


Felix Culpa

by Felgia_Starr, NuclearNik



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Christmas Music, Co-Written, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Gift Giving, Inspired by Music, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Misunderstandings, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-26 03:44:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17134325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Felgia_Starr/pseuds/Felgia_Starr, https://archiveofourown.org/users/NuclearNik/pseuds/NuclearNik
Summary: Four times Draco ruins Christmas, and the one time he doesn't.Written for Dramione Fanfiction Writers' Triwizard Tournament Fest.Disclaimer: We do not own any part of the Harry Potter Franchise





	Felix Culpa

 

_noun: **felix culpa**_

_an apparent error or disaster with happy consequences_

* * *

 

  
Through the bedroom window of her east London flat, Hermione watched a few stubborn flakes of snow dance through the air, only to fall to the pavement, instantly melting. The afternoon light had that dreamy quality found in midwinter—ethereal and foggy.

Turning away from the window, she tugged a warm hat over her explosion of hair, pulling on a winter coat.

She heard him hollering from downstairs: loud pleas imploring her to hurry and a snarky, “Time waits for no one, Granger!”

Wand tucked in the pocket of her coat, she set off down the stairs, mind racing a mile a minute. Where on Earth might he be taking her on a random Saturday in the middle of December? 

**. . .**

“Well? What do you think?” He looked at her with eager eyes, clearly expecting some sort of reaction.  She'd love to give him one, but she hadn't the foggiest of the significance of the sight before her.

“It's...beautiful, babe. A very lovely tree.”

After apparating out of the city, to arrive somewhere in the English countryside, Draco had tied a scarf across Hermione’s eyes—one of the many lovingly knitted by her mother—and led her down a bumpy path.  
  
When they reached their intended destination, he positioned her to face the direction they had come from, whipping off the scarf. Hands dancing excitedly on her shoulders, he turned her towards his grand surprise. 

It was a… fruit tree. A massive, flowering fruit tree. Given that it was the middle of winter, someone had clearly used an Orchideous Charm to make it bloom in the midst of this drab, brown field.

“It’s not just a tree!” said Draco, clearly a bit exasperated that his surprise wasn’t going to plan.

Sometimes she couldn’t keep up with his ever-changing storm cloud moods. “Right, of course. Not simply a tree. And—what is that—a quail?”

“It’s a partridge, Hermione!” he exclaimed and then just to spite her, he mumbled, “Brightest Witch of Her Age, my arse.”

She rolled her eyes. “Well, forgive me for not being up to date on the local varieties of fauna and fowl!” 

He shook his head in amusement, an infuriatingly taunting smile lifting one corner of his mouth. 

“All right then, let’s see. We have a—partridge, was it?—and this beautiful pear tree…” she trailed off. “Oh God, Malfoy.” 

A little line formed between his brows as he frowned. “You don’t like your surprise?” 

“No, no, of course not. I love it. I’m just so...impressed at the lengths you went to.”

“When I asked what you wanted, you said ‘ _Surprise me, think-outside-the-box’_.”

“I did indeed. This is certainly unique. A partridge in a pear tree. You know, as a kid, whenever I heard that song I would imagine all the leaping lords and geese were parading through my sitting room.” 

“See, I listen more than you think, you silly chit.”

“Oww!” The toe of her boot found his shin.

“Keep running your mouth, Malfoy, and see where it gets you."

“Go stand in front of the tree, Granger. I’ll take your picture. We can put it on the mantle next to all the other clutter you have there.”

“It’s not clutter; they’re knickknacks!”

“Whatever you say, dear. Now, smile and say ‘ _My boyfriend is the best in all the land!_ ’”

_Click_

The picture that soon sat on the ledge above the fireplace—what should have been a sweetly smiling Hermione posing in front of the pear tree—turned out to be a sweetly smiling Hermione enthusiastically throwing up her middle fingers to the man behind the camera.

**. . .**

“He’s really gone mental, hasn’t he?” Hermione stood in the sitting area of her flat, Pansy right beside her with a smirk plastered across her face.  
  
“Well, you did tell him to get creative this year.” Pansy folded her arms across her chest, trying desperately to keep her cackling to herself.  
  
“Yeah, but when I said that I wanted twelve days of Christmas, I didn’t mean literally!” She shrieked as she held a cage of two pristine white turtle doves, cooing lovingly beside each other.  
  
“Two down...ten to go.” Pansy lost control and began to wail hilariously.

“I thought the poor bird he put up in the tree yesterday was a one-off! We don’t have room in here for seven swimming swans!” 

Her friend was now collapsed on the floor in a fit of laughter, no help at all, leaving Hermione to figure out what to do with the sweet little doves. She adored the brilliant, creative mind that Draco possessed, but sometimes he became a complete nutter when he got an idea in his stubborn head. 

Her oh-so-clever wizard had set it all up so he was at work when the birds arrived on their doorstep, away from having to deal with the feathered fiends and safe from the elbow to the gut he was likely to receive in return for his ridiculous presents. 

Opening the cage, Hermione let one of the birds hop on her arm, bringing them up to eye level and stroking their soft feathers with a gentle finger. The other bird took advantage of its freedom to fly in a slightly drunken circle around the room, before landing on Pansy’s still shaking shoulders, resulting in another peal of laughter from the dishevelled woman sprawled on the floor. 

With a shake of her head, Hermione sighed and rubbed her cheek against the bird’s head. “We’re surrounded by crackpots, little guy. The snakes have lost their minds.”

* * *

_  
_ Hermione smiled, eyes falling closed, hands stretching out, and head raising up as she let the soft snow fall upon her face, catching in her hair and lashes.  
  
“What are you doing?” she heard Draco ask behind her, sounding perplexed and a bit sneering.  
  
She did not give him a response—not yet—choosing instead to grin at him like a loon and let her attention be taken away by the wondrous December night.  
  
It was a beautiful sight. The sky glowed a gentle blue, stars lighting up the way and the moon unabashedly winking at everyone who dared to look. The leaves of the trees that once covered Genere Alley in a protective embrace had long since left the neighbourhood, replaced by the thick blanket of snow that fell upon the branches in a haunting, stark appearance.  
  
Snow conquered the town. Every quaint shop, every little house, and every hint of pavement had been covered by millions of pure white snowflakes. It was a beautiful sight.  
  
All she could remember was her grandfather singing her to sleep when she was a child and he was still alive. He would sing the song to her every Christmas. Now, if she could just remember the name…  
  
“Granger,” she heard Draco whine impatiently. She looked at her boyfriend then, admiring the snow on his black robes. He adored the colour, but Hermione had always told him that he was made for wearing white.  
  
Draco had a small sneer on his face, fidgeting from one foot to another. He never liked winter. He didn’t do well during colder climates. He’d say to her that he was born in summer for a reason. The sun was his friend, he would add, even though she’d catch him scratching at a newly-acquired sunburn.  
  
As she stared at him now, pale skin practically glowing behind his dark robes and white-blonde hair contrasting so well against the dark grey of his snow speckled hat, Hermione realized that white was her favourite colour.  
  
“Malfoy,” she mocked back at him, her smile widening as she remembered another thing. “Hey, didn’t you ask me what I wanted for Christmas yesterday?”  
  
He frowned, looking more irritated than confused. “I did, and you said you didn’t want anything because of my present last year.”  
  
“I didn’t say that!” Hermione defended. “I’m very grateful for your presents—all twelve of them! I just didn’t want you to put too much effort—”  
  
“Would you rather I don’t put in any effort at all?”  
  
“No!” she exclaimed, but then lowered her voice, clarifying something. “Well, it’s okay if you don’t have a gift, but I just…I wanted this year to—” Hermione cut herself off with an exasperated sigh when she saw a smirk playing on Draco’s lips. “Nevermind.”  
  
Hermione stalked away from him with her arms crossed in front of her chest. She quickened her steps when she heard an annoying laugh coming from him.  
  
“Where are you going?” Malfoy chuckled, his footsteps following after her.  
  
“I’m going home,” she answered shortly, feeling rather immature as she pointedly chose to ignore Draco’s tapping on her shoulder.  
  
“Oh, c’mon.” he groaned. “Don’t act like this.”  
  
She halted in her tracks, turned around, and glared at him. “Don’t act like what?”  
  
Draco shook his head. “Like you're mad at me for no reason. Like you're taking your ball and going home.”  
  
Hermione saw the little frown that was beginning to form on his forehead and she felt her heart soften, affection replacing the irritation she’d felt.  
  
Softly, she said, “Okay.”  
  
He released a visible sigh of relief, and she turned into mush. She caught the awkward glance he’d chanced at her and the pretty pink blush that appeared on his cheeks afterwards. Draco Malfoy had to be the most inadvertently adorable person she’d ever met.  
  
“So, what were—what were you going to say?” asked Draco, teeth chattering from the cold. Even from a distance, she could clearly see his lips turning blue.  
  
She took three steps to stand right in front of him, ignoring his confused expression to wrap her arms around his neck in a warm hug. She also discreetly and wandlessly cast a mild Warming Charm on his robes.  
  
“Let’s have a white Christmas this year,” she whispered into his ear, giving his reddening cheek a kiss.  
  
Her heart soared at the mere thought of going to a secluded cabin built of logs of beautiful white aspen in the middle of nowhere for the holidays. She would spend her days lying on a white carpet and sharing silly childhood stories with Draco in front of a fireplace. There would have to be a tall Christmas tree with bright white pine needles and sparkling blue decorations. At night, she would watch the snowstorm from their bedroom window, white Christmas lights shining through the cabin, while Draco would wrap his arms around her from behind and give her kisses sweeter than the hot chocolate drinks they would hold in their hands.  
  
If she weren’t occupied with the thoughts of a place filled with snow and silver lights, Hermione would’ve heard Draco ask what she had meant.

**  
. . .**

  
Hermione slowed her steps, catching sight of a familiar blonde man standing in a winter white suit as soon as she turned the corner to the block of flats they lived in. Draco looked utterly delectable in white robes, his hair all pushed back and sexy and his smouldering grey eyes thawed any coldness she’d felt.  
  
Was this the white Christmas she’d prayed for? If so, she was eternally grateful.  
  
“Hey,” she said, feeling her cheeks warming up as he smiled at her.  
  
Draco held out a white cloth. “I wanted to show you something.”  
  
“What is it?”  
  
“Well, I want you to put this over your eyes first,” said Draco, referring to the white cloth in his left hand.  
  
Hermione’s stomach fluttered with excitement, taking the cloth from him and wrapping it around her head. “Okay.”  
  
She felt him take her hand in his own, tugging and making it clear he wanted her to walk. So she did.  
  
Anticipation rushed through Hermione, her whole body humming and tingling with nervousness. Her apprehension tripled when she heard Draco’s steps stop. She held her breath as she felt his hands untying the loose knot at the back of her head.  What she saw made her stomach drop.  
  
She couldn’t help but let out a dismayed gasp when she realized they were standing in front of the building they lived in and every inch had been painted white. It had been classic brick-red before, but now, even the windows were covered with thick, white paint.  
  
Out of the corner of her eyes, Hermione noticed a group of their neighbours, standing a few feet away, whispering to each other and looking absolutely horrified. Oh no.  
  
“Well?” Draco’s tone was arrogant and proud.  
  
Hermione couldn’t take her eyes off the winter-coloured walls. “Draco, what did you do?”  
  
“White Christmas,” he said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.  
  
“Draco, I—”  
  
“C’mon, I have to show you our flat!” Draco interjected, a huge grin on his face.  
  
He gripped her wrist, dragging her inside the block of flats excitedly, and she felt like she couldn’t do anything to stop him. When they managed to get inside their own flat, her jaw went slack.  
  
Her left eye twitched. Everything in sight had been painted white. The floor, the walls, the couch, the coffee table, the kitchen counter, her bookshelves—and her books! And Crookshanks! _Oh no._  
  
How…? When…?  
  
“Amazing, right?” Draco said with a self-satisfied smirk. At that, something inside Hermione snapped.  
  
“Why would you do this?” she couldn’t help but yell.  
  
He frowned. “You said you wanted a white—”  
  
“Yes!” she cut off. “That doesn’t mean painting the whole building white!”  
  
“It doesn’t?”  
  
“No!” Hermione stomped her foot to emphasize. “It means I just want the snow and the white Christmas trees and carpets and—I didn’t ask you to turn my cat white, Malfoy!”  
  
“So you’re ungrateful?” Draco asked, tightening his jaw.  
  
Hermione clenched her hands into fists. “No! I'm not. I appreciate your efforts well enough. I’m just really—not everything I say is supposed to be taken literally, you know!”  
  
“Those fifty cans of white paint really cost a lot,” he muttered, eyes rolling and shoulders slumping, “and my wrists hurt from all the manual painting I had to do.”  
  
“Well, it’s not my fault that—”  
  
“I knew you'd have felt it meant less if I painted with magic, so I bought a brush and—”  
  
“You should’ve known I wouldn’t like it. Muggle way or not, if you painted my first edition—”  
  
“The least you could do is say thanks, Gra—”  
  
“I don’t owe you anything!” she exclaimed. “And I refuse to thank you for this mess. Do you know how long—”  
  
“You didn’t even say thank you for my gifts last year,” he pointed out, frustration in his tone. “I don’t understand why you’re acting like this. I did exactly what you want—”  
  
“I never said that this is what I wanted!”  
  
“Then what did you mean when you said _‘let's have a white Christmas this year’_?”  
  
“Not this, that’s for sure,” she muttered. “In fact, I would’ve been fine with anything but—”  
  
“Excuse me?” a new voice interrupted. She turned her head and saw the landlord standing in their doorway. Oh no.  
  
Hermione glanced at Draco before gulping nervously. “Yes?”  
  
“Miss Granger and her...companion,” he acknowledged, forcing a smile. He wasn’t exactly a friendly man. “I don't want to have to do this, especially at this time of year, but the other residents are quite bothered by your constant...disturbance of peace and damage of property. Of course, the residents’ safety is always in my best interest, and, unfortunately, I have to let you go.”  
  
“What?” she gasped.  
  
“The management of Genere Alley has put me in the position of telling you that you are no longer welcome in our peaceful streets and that your return would require us to call the Aurors,” the landlord rushed out, reading from a parchment that Hermione hadn’t noticed before.  
  
She didn’t realize she was shaking until Draco’s steady hands were around her, holding her in a comforting embrace.  
  
“How long do we have?” she heard Draco ask.  
  
The landlord glanced at the parchment and replied, “You have twelve hours to get the building righted and to pack up and leave.”  
  
Hermione nodded, biting back a sob. “We’ll be sure to leave before then.”  
  
The landlord bid them his apologies and goodbyes.  
  
“Hermione,” her boyfriend called out after a while, magically putting all their clothes in a box.  
  
She heaved a sigh. “What?”  
  
“I’m sorry.”  
  
Hermione paused in wrapping up her books, raised her head to look at him, and gave him a forced smile. There was no reason to yell at him some more and add to an already stressful situation. “It’s okay, Draco.”  
  
No other conversation followed after that.  
  
Hours later, when everything was back to normal and they were about to apparate away, Hermione stood at the entrance of their former neighbourhood. She loved the place. It was charming, beautiful, and quiet. Everybody respected everybody’s privacy—except for them, apparently. She was surely going to miss the place, and she didn't think she would ever get to live in a better place than Genere Alley.  If it weren’t for Draco reaching for her arm and apparating them on the spot, Hermione was sure she would’ve cried.  
  
But all the tears that misted in her eyes began to dissipate when she saw where Draco had taken them. They were standing a few feet away from a small, ivory cabin in the middle of the woods, the log house partially buried in snow.  
  
“Where are we?” Hermione asked, her eyes bright with begrudging excitement.  
  
“Huh?” Draco seemed distracted. “Oh, erm, we’re at Malfoy Manor.”  
  
She turned to him then, a brow raised in question.  
  
“I mean we’re somewhere around the back of Malfoy Manor,” he corrected. “I didn’t want to take you inside the Manor itself because of…you know.”  
  
“Are we staying here?” she questioned again, a smile beginning to spread on her face.  
  
“Yeah.” Draco ran a hand across his snow-covered blonde hair. “I hope you don’t mind.”  
  
“Mind?” she repeated. “Draco, this is just what I wanted for our Christmas!”  
  
He frowned, taken aback. “You wanted to stay at our house-elves’ winter house?”  
  
“House-elves?” she repeated with a scowl, deciding to let it go...for now, at least. “Well, I just wished for a little alone time with you in the middle of nowhere, the snow trapping us inside the warm cabin.”  
  
Realization dawned on Draco’s face, and it amused Hermione to no end. “Oh. That's you meant when you said white Christmas?”  
  
Hermione giggled at the clear self-loathing on his expression. “Yes!”  
  
Draco’s lips turned up into a smirk. “Well, forgot all that other stuff, this is my real surprise for you then!”  
  
She smiled at the satisfaction in his eyes. They might have gotten kicked out of the best place in wizarding Britain, but at least her Christmas was going to be spent with Draco by her side and snow outside the windows.  
  
Hermione grabbed his face with her hands and kissed him tenderly, enjoying the way his cheeks reddened a tad afterwards. He was still wearing a white suit and a small pile of snow gathered on top of his blonde head. Still handsome as ever.  
  
This was exactly what she had wished for.  
  
“You’re my white Christmas,” she said to him in a whisper before leaning in and kissing him again.

* * *

  
Beams of soft mid-December light filtered in through the linen curtains, bouncing off the ceiling to shoot straight through her eyelids. Hermione fluttered open sleepy eyes, stretching across the bed with a yawn.  
  
As she sat up, she noticed no sound came from the flat next door, an unusual occurrence due to the four children under the age of 5 living there. On a typical Saturday, their morning crying and fighting carried through the thin walls.  
  
She went to scratch her ear, realizing she couldn't hear the rasp of her nail against skin. That seemed odd. Was something wrong with her hearing? It was winter, after all, cold and flu running rampant through wizard and muggle alike. Perhaps she was a bit stuffy? She clapped her hands in front of her face, expecting to hear a muffled sound at the very least.

Nothing.

A sliver of panic wound its way through her chest. Before she could let it consume her, she took a deep breath and forced her logical brain to take over. Reaching towards the bedside table for her wand, she grabbed it and pointed in the general direction of her head, muttering “ _Finite Incantatum_ ”, hoping dearly it worked. 

Her hearing returned with a rush.

She could hear the children next door screaming, as a buzzing began in-between her ears, radiator against the wall sounding louder than a train. A pounding sensation took up residence at the back of her skull, with haste.

Several things came to her at once—today was Christmas Eve, she certainly hadn’t charmed away her own hearing, and her man was notoriously good at misinterpreting things she said, especially this time of year when his ego preened at the accomplishment of surprising and impressing her. 

“Malfoy!” Hollering at the top of her lungs, she swung her legs to the side of the bed, feet landing on the wood floor.

She watched her boyfriend slide up to the bedroom door, smug as could be, and lean against the frame, arms folded over his chest. 

“Did you enjoy your quiet night, Granger?”

“It's frightening waking up without one of your senses, you bastard!” Rolling her eyes, Hermione stood and made her way to him. 

“Is that not what you meant when you said _‘Oh, babe, this year I hope we can have just a calm, silent night sort of holiday’_?” 

More amused than irritated, she poked him in the chest. “Don't you ever do that again.” 

An annoying smirk lit up one corner of his mouth. “Protest if you will, but you look more rested than I've ever seen you.”

She glared daggers at him with surprisingly refreshed and bagless eyes.

“Besides, perhaps you should be more careful of what you say next time. I'm only ever at your beck and call, love.” He winked as she smacked him in the shoulder.

“Shut up and kiss me, you dolt.”  


* * *

  
Hermione sniffed, hiccups escaping her as she sobbed pathetically for the umpteenth time that night. Draco kneeled on the floor in front of her while she sat on their couch, hugging her knees.

She’d just found out that her parents were divorcing—on Christmas eve, in the middle of dinner with Draco’s own parents, no less. Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy had been appalled at the thought of a sacred bond being broken so easily and without care, and they’d made their opinions known. An argument had broken out between the two sets of parents and it ended with Hermione crying.  
  
To say that Christmas—a holiday she usually adored—was ruined would be an understatement.  
  
Now, Hermione chose to mourn the death of her holiday spirit and her parents’ marriage.  
  
“It will be okay,” said Draco awkwardly, running his hands over her legs in a comforting manner, still unsure of the proper ways to comfort a woman in a moment of distress.  
  
She buried her head further into her knees. “No, it won’t.”  
  
“You know, sometimes I think it would be better for my parents to divorce,” he said, smiling crookedly.  
  
She broke into ugly sobs again because of his words, her chest constricting and breathing becoming irregular.  
  
“I’m kidding, of course,” Draco tried to amend. “I was trying to make you laugh. I'm not sure I could handle it if they split up.”  
  
“Shut up, Draco,” she whined, salty tears making tracks down her face.  
  
“Okay.”  
  
She felt his arms wrapping around her waist. His embrace made her feel a bit sweaty, but it did ease some of her heartaches. His touch made her forget the pain momentarily and for that she was thankful, but even his hand rubbing her back couldn’t stop the flood of memories that flashed in her head.  
  
She let go of her knees and gripped Draco’s shoulders instead, resting her chin on one of them. Tears continued to fall as she gazed at the Christmas tree that stood by the door.  
  
She shut her eyes and saw her parents holding each other in a loving embrace, dancing to an old Christmas tune. She recalled sitting beside the tree, sucking on a peppermint stick and holding a doll in her hand, watching as her parents moved around the room. It was her very first memory.  
  
Hermione loudly wept on Draco’s shoulder, rubbing her wet nose on his robes.  
  
“Just because they’re separating doesn’t mean they love you any less, you know,” Draco whispered.  
  
She nodded silently. She knew that much.  
  
“And it’s not your fault,” he added. “Some things just don’t work out the way we planned sometimes.”  
  
His words weren't much of a comfort, everything he was saying she already knew to be true; it was his voice that soothed her hurt, that kissed her pain away. There was something so calming about rumble of his voice. His voice healed her heart, and she loved him more for all of it.  
  
But still, Hermione couldn’t erase the memory of her parents laughing and dancing the snowstorms away.  
  
To this day, she could still sing the words to their song without missing a beat. So she sang, her words muffled by both Draco’s shoulder and her runny nose, “ _Ave yoursef a merry li’l Christmaaaaaaas,_ ” before getting interrupted by her own snivelling.  
  
She felt Draco stiffen around her. She was about to ask him what was wrong when he suddenly got up and dashed across the room. She was so confused that she stopped crying for a moment.  
  
“What…?” Hermione started to ask, watching, perplexed, as Draco crouched in front of the Christmas tree and mumbled incoherent things. She saw his wand light up a few times before he walked back to her, holding something in his fist.  
  
He reached out for Hermione’s hand, opening it and placing something on her palm. “Happy Christmas.”  
  
Hermione brought her palm close to her eyes and saw three tiny parcels that she swore she saw under the Christmas tree earlier. “Draco, what are these?”  
  
“My presents for you,” he answered as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.  
  
She continued to frown at the little gifts that sat on her palm. “Yes, but why did you shrink them?”  
  
“You just said you wanted a very little Christmas, so I—” Draco stopped to give her a scowl when she threw her head back and laughed. “What’s so funny?”  
  
She cheekily smiled at him, her night considerably brightening up. “Nothing.”  
  
Hermione glanced back at the parcels on her hand and couldn’t help but to let out another guffaw.  
  
Draco’s scowl turned into a halfhearted glare. “You’re absolutely mad, woman.”  
  
She attempted to unwrap one of his gifts with two fingers but only succeeded in scratching the surface horribly. She chuckled again when the presents tumbled out of her hand, Draco catching them with magic.  
  
“Be careful!” he hissed, turning the parcels back into their original sizes with a single flick of his wand.  
  
“You know the words I sang were  ‘a merry little Christmas’, right?” Hermione teased, poking at his side.  
  
His face blanched. “What?”  
  
“I told you that you shouldn’t take everything I say literally,” she added, her grin widening.  
  
He set the gifts down gently, not looking at her. “I’m sorry, I guess, but at least I made you laugh.”  
  
Hermione’s smile lessened when she remembered what she had been crying about earlier, but the genuine amusement she felt was harder to bring down. “Thank you.”  
  
“That’s a first,” he scoffed, his lips turning up at the sides.  
  
She chuckled. “What?”  
  
“I mean, that’s the first time you’ve actually thanked me for my presents,” he explained, “and you haven’t even opened them yet.”  
  
They smiled at each other until Draco leaned in and placed a quick kiss on her lips.  
  
“You’re so pretty,” he murmured against her mouth, and she gave in to her desires by putting her lips back on his. His kiss made her feel content. Even though she’d spent the whole night crying, Draco’s body against hers somehow made everything better again. She felt like she was ready to conquer the world whenever his lips were on her skin.  
  
She loved him so much. She knew she wouldn’t be able to handle it if they were ever to separate like her parents had chosen to do. Throwing her arms around his neck, she gave into the moment and let everything else fade away.  


* * *

  
Hermione had insisted on a Muggle Christmas tree this year. Magical holiday decorations were all fine and good, but after her mother had passed away early this year, from a sudden and unexpected heart attack, she was heartsick and felt compelled to honour the traditions her beloved mum had started for their family. Draco had given in easily, considering how vehemently he usually whined about magic being better for everything.

They had spent the day picking out a tree, getting it set up, and festooning it with all manner of decorations. In the kitchen—Christmas jumper and reindeer slippers on—Hermione made dinner, trying to distract herself from the ache in her chest.

She set about flipping pancakes and scrambling eggs, chopping up fruit to use as topping. In the years they'd been together, Hermione had introduced him to the idea of breakfast-for-dinner, and Draco grew to quite like the odd food choice, on occasion. She found it comforting, a feeling she was discovering she craved in spades this holiday season. 

Draco was in the living room, instructed by Hermione on how to complete the finishing touches for the tree. Mostly draping it in yards of tinsel until it was a giant, sparkling cone.  
  
Christmas had always been her favourite holiday. When she was a child, her mum took them carolling at homes for the elderly. They would sing songs and pass out peppermint sticks, chatting with the residents. Mrs Granger had always been a woman with a heart too big for her chest, caring for everyone, down to the tiniest ant. Never was a bug allowed to be squished in their house, not on her watch. They were always gently escorted back outside.

Hermione hoped those parts of her mother continued to live on in her. 

Scratchy voices on the radio serenaded her with jolly tunes and soft carols. She chopped in time to the beat, swinging her hips. 

The DJ introduced the next song as a favourite of his. As the notes floated their way into her consciousness, she paused in her dicing of a particularly stubborn strawberry. There was something so familiar about the lyrics, the melody.  She was suddenly sent back in time, eyes closing, a vivid memory forming behind her eyelids.

There was a song that was released during her third-year at Hogwarts, when she was home on holiday break, before the events that stole her away from her childhood.  
  
She remembered her mum driving them to the mall one evening. She had been sitting in the front seat of their station wagon, etching patterns in the condensation-covered window. A honey-sweet voice had begun to croon from the car radio. Her mother had turned up the dial, reaching a hand over to pat Hermione’s leg, and they’d let the melody take them away, heads gently swaying to the rhythm. 

In her kitchen, mind rushing back to the present, Hermione found tears flooding her eyes as the memory faded.

“Hermione?”

She swiped at her face, not wanting him to see her crying for the hundredth time. It was often lately that he found her in various states of upset, heartache triggered by some benign reminder of her loss. 

“Come here, love.” 

Warm arms surrounded her, turning her in his embrace to rest her head on his chest. He rubbed soothing circles along her spine, hand smoothing over her hair as he held her close. 

She sniffled, rubbing her nose into his shoulder, for once letting someone else comfort her, desperately hoping he could make her feel whole again.

In the quiet of the kitchen, the song that had brought her to tears swirled through the air. Draco set his hands on her hips. 

“Hop up.”

Tilting her head up, she stared at him, confused.

He smiled and lifted her just a bit so her feet rested on top of his. He brushed his hands along her arms, guiding her hands to wind around his neck, his own wrapping tightly around her back. They began to waltz around the kitchen, Draco leading them in what was little more than swaying to the rhythm like two kids at a school disco.

As the song built to a crescendo, he hoisted her up above his head, spinning in a dizzying circle. Throwing her head back, she sang at the top of her lungs, a few more tears slipping out of her eyes, and a bittersweet smile on her face.

 

_My heart told me once before_

_To find my dream and search no more_

_And when my heart finds Christmas_

_I hope it finds you too_

 

When the final notes rang out, her feet were returned to the earth. She laid her ear against his chest, taking comfort in the steady beat she found there. Draco was here, alive and well, in her arms and breathing soundly Not everyone she loved was gone. She wasn’t going to be left alone. Draco was here, warming her up right down to her soul. She wanted him by her side forever. 

With a hand on the back of his neck, she pulled him down, pressing a sweet kiss to his mouth. “You’re my heart, Draco. I love you so much.” 

He ducked his head to the crook of her neck, whispering his own words of love against her skin.

“Happy Christmas, Granger,” she felt—more than heard—him say, her eyes closing on a contented sigh.

“Happy Christmas, Malfoy.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Songs mentioned: 12 Day of Christmas, White Christmas, Silent Night, Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas, and When My Heart Finds Christmas.


End file.
